Page 54 of Bratva Butcher

He grabbed my hands and put them on the back of his head, pushing them into his hair roughly as if he wanted me to push him closer, harder into my pussy so that it almost smothered him.

I did, and he released this deep, masculine groan of satisfaction that had me shivering all over. He ripped my shorts and underwear away and then curled my legs around him.

My hips moved in time with the strokes of his tongue, pleasure building and building. “Dimitri,” I breathed, my orgasm so close that I could almost taste it.

“Say my name again,” he growled, licking faster.

“Dimitri, Dimitri, Dimitri,” I moaned over and over again.

He roughly pushed two fingers inside me, and I would have shot off the bed if he hadn’t clamped one arm across my stomach. “Lie the fuck back down. I’m not done.”

I fought him, loving the way he pinned me down to keep going. The way he fought to keep me still so he could keep licking me. Keep fucking me with his fingers.

“Shit, I’m coming. I’m coming. I’m—”

Something soft smacked me in the face. I shot up, looking around in confusion, my chest panting and sweat trickling down my forehead. A pillow laid on the floor right next to my bed.

What the?

The room was quiet except for the sounds of a few people snoring. I picked up the pillow, inspecting it. My eyes shot to Dimitri over in his cot. He was still lying with his back to me, but his pillow was missing.

He’d thrown it at me.

I internally winced. My dream must have trickled over into real life. What had he heard? No. The more important question was, what did I fucking say?

Had I only moaned? God, I hoped I hadn’t said his name out loud. I didn’t need him knowing that I just had one of the best sex dreams I’d ever had…and thathewas the leading star.

I fluffed the pillow before adding it on top of my own, lying back down. He wasn’t getting it back. It was onmyside, and now it was mine.

I bounced on the tips of my toes, anticipation and excitement beating through my blood as I anxiously stared at the TV screen.

All of us were gathered in the training area, but it wasn’t to train. No. The games had finally begun.

And I couldn’t be more excited.

That morning, the first round had commenced. We had all been standing around like we were now, clustered together in a group while Talon’s guards surrounded us in a tight circle, their machine guns ready and pointing at us in warning in case any of us got any ideas about trying to escape.

The crowd had chanted, roaring so loudly that it could be heard through the thick stone walls.

We all knew what that’d meant: the event we had all been preparing for had finally come.

I’d realised halfway through Talon’s grand speech that he intended for all of us to watch the fights. That was why they’d gathered us all there, to watch it on the TV screens. Maybe it was to help prepare us. Maybe it was to torture us. I wasn’t sure, but I was inclined to believe it was the latter.

What made it even more torturous was that we had no idea who was fighting. Not until right at the last moment, when it was announced to the crowd.

Talk about keeping us on our fucking toes.

The first pairs to fight were Samuel Marlon and Jessica Clifford vs Ronnie O’Hara and Leah Asner. After their names were called, guards had swarmed us, pulling them from the group, removing their collars and shoving them into the arena all within thirty seconds.

We’d watched them on the TVs mounted to the wall in the training area. It had been brutal to watch. There was absolutely no censorship. You saweverythingas it was happening. All the blood. All the gore. All the tears and cries of pain.

Some of the other prisoners had thrown up. Others passed out. The weapons in the arena made the whole thing more barbaric. More bloody.

I also suspected they’d placed microphones in the arena itself, because you could hear every single thing. Every swoosh as axe’ssliced through the air. Every squelch as blades cut into bodies. Every cry of pain.

You could hear it all.

And now, it was time for round two.

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